Love's to Blame
by chalantness
Summary: She wants to believe it, and maybe, somewhere deep inside, she kind of does, because she feels sick of herself and it's the only thing that gives her comfort.


**Fandom. **TylerCaroline with StefanCaroline/DamonCaroline friendships

Disclaimer: Vampire Diaries © L.J. Smith

* * *

**Love's To Blame**

By sakuracherish814

* * *

Her head hurts like hell and crying has worn her out. Since being turned, she hasn't remembered feeling this exhausted.

She rests her head against the rusty bars, shifting to get comfortable, which is impossible.

Eventually she ends up curled together on the bottom, eyes closed, kind of wanting to be asleep rather than hear the jokes, the laughing, the taunting, from the crackling campfire she knows is near.

She is half aware of the voices mostly because her hearing is sensitive, but also because she hears Jules amongst them and she hopes to hear his.

(She doesn't.)

Yeah, sleep sounds great right about now.

* * *

She drifts and hears herself being slammed into her car, the sides denting, the growl rip from his throat, the look on his face.

_I trusted you!_

She whimpers at the memory. Was she even awake?

It doesn't feel like it.

* * *

_I don't trust him._

No, no of course he didn't. He actually cared, cared for her, when she was a liar, a cold, cold liar.

_It was for our safety, for all of us. It's not your fault._

She wants to believe it, and maybe, somewhere deep inside, she kind of does, because she feels sick of herself and it's the only thing that gives her comfort.

But she wants to make this right, even though he's done so much for her, has treated her with nothing but love and respect, and it makes her feel worse knowing what she's asking of him.

_Please, please, help me fix this. Please._

_You could get hurt. No, you're going to get hurt if you continue this. Okay, so you want me to talk to him. What if Tyler tries to retaliate?_

He won't.

That's what she tells herself, that he won't.

And maybe she's right. She still doesn't know, but she ends up with a gun to her head, so she thinks it won't matter much anymore.

* * *

She hears the laughter get louder, hears the crackling, and she just wants to sink into the dark because the lights around her are too bright even with her eyes closed.

_Gotten yourself into quite the situation, haven't you, Blondie?_

_It's not funny._

Their arguing, their voices, their bickering, it comforts her. It makes her want to laugh, if she could find herself enough to do so.

She pictures them perfectly in her mind. One tips his head back, letting the red liquid slide down his throat, smirking, while the other has his arms crossed, looking at her, intense and soft all at once.

_Don't worry. We're going to come get you. We're not going to leave you there._

_I don't know. Maybe Vampire Barbie will learn her lesson._

_Again, it's not funny._

She kind of wants it to be.

Somewhere, somewhere far, far away, she hears a door opening, hears a pair of heels.

_Bitch._

_I'm on my way. I'm coming to get you._

_As if I'd let you take all the credit, Baby Bro._

She feels them reach for her. They are holding her, the both of them, and she feels a little safer.

_We won't be long._

Their touch fades. She wonders where they came from. It isn't a memory, but it feels real, it felt real, and she thinks maybe her mind is just trying to comfort her.

Was she still dreaming? But she feels the sharp, burning, searing pain against her skin, hears the sizzling, and flinches away from that stupid, stupid plant.

* * *

She drifts, in and out, enough to hear the heels walk away, and then for a new person to join her in the empty room.

Her body is aching, aching for blood, burning off the last of her energy, so her senses are numb and it isn't worth the effort to see who it is.

Can they just kill her now?

Her fingers clasp around something rusty, trembling. "Just do it. Drive a stake through my heart." Her voice is raspy.

"I should. I should after everything." Huh. She wasn't expecting an answer. "Part of me wants to. But the other part knows it'll be a betrayal."

If she didn't know any better, that voice sounds really, really, really familiar, but she is too tired to remember, so she lets him talk.

"Why? Why couldn't you just have told me? Why did I have to find out from her?"

Something slams the cage. A fist?

Then something warm move towards her, moves by hear head. Fingers ghost over her own, curling around the hand she has around the rusted iron bar.

"I could've stopped this, I could've stopped her. But now they're all here. I don't know what the hell is going on. And you know what sucks? I want you, so bad, but I can't."

* * *

He doesn't leave. They sit there in silence for a long time and very, very faintly, she hears the sniffling, the staggered breathing, and she doesn't need her eyes open to see the tears.

Her hand drops from the bar.

She kind of thinks she remembers who this voice belongs to.

* * *

Her throat is burning. Her veins, ever so lightly, rub together. She thinks she remembers it's supposed to happen that way.

Then people are suddenly yelling, and screaming, and growling, from above, or outside, or wherever. Yeah, there is definitely a lot of growling.

"What the hell?"

His chair scrapes against the floor and she tries to pull herself up if her head didn't feel so heavy.

The door bursts open and a growl rips from someone's throat.

"Back away, Fido," he snarls, and she becomes frantic, clawing at the bars. He gives a strong pull and she hears something snap and arms are grasping her, hauling her out.

"Caroline," a hand cups her face and she feels herself being lifted and placed on the ground, a hand smoothing over her hair, "Caroline, are you with me?"

She doubles over into coughs.

"Get away from her!"

"Here, take this," he mutters close to her ear. There is this delicious, delicious aroma being put in front of her, so she just nods furiously and nearly rips the bag, drinking greedily.

"I said, get—"

He is flung across the room.

"Shut up! You're the one who got locked up in the first place. If you really gave a crap about her, then you'll let us get her the hell out of here."

He glares menacingly, heaving slightly as he gets up, but the last thing she sees is that look on his face as their eyes meet.

And suddenly she is being pushed out of the room and outside into the dark, where there is a campfire crackling, and these people are lunging for a swift silhouette.

"Show me your teeth, Blondie."

So she does.

* * *

They call her mom, make up some excuse she'll have to be told in the morning, but she couldn't care less because they have one damn comfortable couch.

He heaves a sigh and draws the comfiest blanket over her tired body. "You never make this easy on me, don't you?"

"You're always so good to me," she murmurs into the armrest, "and I don't deserve it."

"Funny. I always thought self-pity was beneath you."

"Damon."

"Quit babying her. I still have plenty of issues that need to be dealt with concerning our precious Vampire Barbie."

"You act like she wasn't just taken hostage. Everything will just have to wait for the morning."

"The _morning?_ After the incredible headache she was, and still _is_, to us, I think we should give it to her now."

"Just let her sleep."

"When morning comes around, Elena will be here, and she'll bring the witch and the little brother, too, and maybe the teacher, _then_ how am I supposed to give her a piece of my mind?"

"Oh, quit putting up an act, will you? Why is it so hard for you to admit that you were just as worried as I was and that you're glad she's safe?"

"I wasn't worried therefore I am not glad."

"Believe what you want."

And, at some point, their arguing lulls her to sleep.

* * *

That night she dreams of wolves. She sees _his_ face staring back at her, some unknown expression on his face, the eerie moonlight shining on the blood covering her hands.

She whimpers and cries. It's kind of pathetic, but even though she feels a hand rubbing her back soothingly, feels both of them with her, she knows that without _him_ she'll always feel empty. Alone.

"_Tyler._"

* * *

**A/n.** This isn't my usual writing style. I was giving it a shot. Was it a hit or miss? It's also my first fic with a non-happy, non-resolved ending.

I kind of hate it. I'll try to never write like this again. Or, at least one with an ending that makes me want to cry.

_So you read it. Love it? Hate it? Please review it._


End file.
